<!DOCTYPE html>
<html>
<head>
<meta charset="UTF-8">
<title>the sunset, like survival by julek</title>
<style type="text/css">

body { background-color: #ffffff; }
.CI {
text-align:center;
margin-top:0px;
margin-bottom:0px;
padding:0px;
}
.center   {text-align: center;}
.cover    {text-align: center;}
.full     {width: 100%; }
.quarter  {width: 25%; }
.smcap    {font-variant: small-caps;}
.u        {text-decoration: underline;}
.bold     {font-weight: bold;}
</style>
</head>
<body>
<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26821102">the sunset, like survival</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/julek/pseuds/julek'>julek</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Fluff, M/M, Soft and very self-indulgent</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-10-04</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-10-04</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 10:14:04</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,578</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26821102</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/julek/pseuds/julek</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Geralt and Eskel talk about the future.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Eskel/Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>15</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>55</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>the sunset, like survival</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p> </p><p>Neon light washes against the pavement, small puddles hinting at the afternoon showers that earlier overlooked the city. Inside, soft music pours from the speakers, adding a pleasant touch to the buzzing atmosphere already filled with chatter and laughter. People come and go, black coats and scarves hung over their chairs, swirling their drinks in their hands and taking bites out of their food. Servers take orders —Friday nights are chaotic— and try to keep up with the customers swarming the bar, eager to get a table and escape the crisp autumn air. </p><p>Raindrops fall from the trees that stand tall on the sidewalk, sometimes catching on Eskel’s hair, making some strands stick to his forehead. His glass is cool against his fingers, the remnants of the amber lager he’d ordered resting at the bottom. His knees are bumping against the table, his back hunched from sitting on the weirdly-shaped bar stool — who designs these things, anyway? </p><p>“You want some of my fries?” </p><p>He pushes the small plate in Geralt’s direction. His cheeks are bright red, both from the cold and the beer he’d been nursing, white hair up in a messy bun. The soft orange light from the vintage lightbulbs on a railing over their heads paints his profile bronze gold, his eyes glimmering in the shadows of the night. </p><p>Geralt had insisted on them sitting outside, something along the lines of <em> it’s too warm inside </em> and <em> can’t talk with all that noise going on</em>. Eskel had shrugged, though a small smile crossed his face when Geralt balled up his jacket and affectionately tossed it to him, like he’d done a million times before. </p><p>Reaching across the table, Geralt grabs a small packet of ketchup and rips it with his teeth. Eskel takes a sip of his beer, unhurried. </p><p>“Remember what you’d say when we were kids?” Geralt says after a while, his voice low. “Those nights when we’d lay on the back of your truck, looking for satellites?”</p><p>Eskel huffs a laugh. He knows. Entire nights spent out on the fields drinking beer (stolen from Vesemir’s fridge), noses curling up in disgust at the bitter taste — beer was an acquired taste, or so they promised themselves. Eskel driving out to the outskirts of town just for the sake of it with Geralt in the passenger seat, his hand drawing circles in the air out the window. How they’d sit on the grass, side by side, the summer stars shining bright above them, the sound of cicadas and frogs filling the comfortable silence.</p><p>“I do,” he says, his fingers drawing circles on the table, stringing the droplets together like a pattern. </p><p>“You’d tell me,” Geralt leans forward, his elbows resting on the tabletop, “that if I ever wanted to run away, you’d come with me.”</p><p>“Do you feel like running away?”</p><p>A car passes them by, headlights flashing against Geralt’s pale skin, and for a second, Eskel can see him, buzzcut and split lips curled into a wicked grin, jumping in the river at night. His calloused hands, freckles peppering his golden skin after spending weeks working on the fields under the burning sun, tired eyes crinkling at the corners.</p><p>And the look Geralt’s giving him right now is one he recognizes well. He’s seen it before — the night Eskel left for college, the day after his mother was buried, the summer the storm broke loose and the winds tore the barn apart. It’s exhaustion set deep in his bones, dark circles framing his amber eyes, revealing nights of restless sleep. </p><p>Geralt shifts in his seat, idly smearing the ketchup across the plate with the tip of his finger. </p><p>“I don’t know,” he says quietly. “Sometimes I just want to let go. Or maybe I’m just getting old.”</p><p>“You are, though,” Eskel teases, but it feels too ominous. “Where would we run away to? Hypothetically.”</p><p>Geralt huffs a laugh around a mouthful of beer, still smiling when he swallows it down.</p><p>“Hmm,” he says, looking thoughtful. “Not the city.”</p><p>“Never the city,” Eskel agrees.</p><p>“Maybe a town.”</p><p>“Yeah… a shitty town in the middle of nowhere. Somewhere it’s not too hot.”</p><p>Geralt narrows his eyes, considering, a smirk on his lips.</p><p>“How shitty a town are we speaking of?” he says, raising an eyebrow. “You know me.”</p><p>And he does. He knows Geralt early in the morning, knows him in the dead of the night. He’s seen him, inside and out, the good and the bad. Seen the sunlight draped over his naked back, his hair messy and long that year he’d refused to cut it, his small act of rebellion. He’s heard him cry, tears welling up in his eyes for hours on end, his voice a choked sound. He’s felt Geralt’s warm skin under his hands on the nights beds were scarce and the winter was rough, felt his breath against his face, the beating of his heart under his own head. </p><p>Eskel shakes his head, biting his lip in fond exasperation. </p><p>“Very shitty. As in no-phone-signal shitty. Maybe a diner, a few houses down the road. We’d live in a cabin by the river.”</p><p>He sits back on his chair, his arms crossed on his chest. </p><p>“Yeah,” he continues, “there’d be a big town nearby. Not too close, though. Like an hour drive away. We’d go get groceries and beer once a week.”</p><p>Geralt smiles pleasantly, some of the weariness lifting from his face. A waitress swipes a table nearby, and Eskel asks her for a refill. </p><p>“This cabin by the river,” Geralt says suddenly, “how big is it?”</p><p>“Hmm... Not too big, so we don’t have to waste too much time keeping it clean, and so we don’t feel tempted to keep too many things.”</p><p>“Ever the minimalist,” Geralt teases. “How many bedrooms?”</p><p>Eskel takes a moment to consider. He thinks of the barn, countless times in which they’d fallen asleep together, laying on a pack of hay, limbs entwined. Rainy days spent in that worn yellow hammock Vesemir kept hanging from an old oak tree, card games that ended in lazy afternoon naps. Mornings in which he’d wake up slowly, his nose buried in silver hair, arm lazily thrown over Geralt’s waist. </p><p>“One,” he decides, and Geralt silently nods in agreement. “With a good mattress, though.”</p><p>“Yeah, old man, I know. Your back kills you.”</p><p>Eskel takes a sip from his lager, the bittersweet taste clinging to his tongue. He puts it down and zips his jacket all the way up. It smells like Geralt — the faint scent of sweat and smoke mixed with laundry soap.</p><p>“You’ve got…” Geralt clicks his tongue and leans forward, his thumb swiping foam off Eskel’s chin. It’s a simple gesture, yet such an intimate one that he can’t help but feel his face burn. </p><p>“Thanks,” he says, his voice small. </p><p>They sit in silence for a while, watching people move around them. It’s almost midnight and a group of young women speaking a foreign language walks past, the clicking of their heels fading away in the darkness. A man and a golden retriever stroll around the block, the dog barking at Geralt excitedly as they pass them by. He smiles.</p><p>“How many dogs?”</p><p>Eskel rolls his eyes.</p><p>“You can have as many as you like. I’m not cleaning up after them.”</p><p>Geralt pouts, a strand of white hair falling on his face, and he looks ridiculously endearing. “Fine,” he says. “But they’re sleeping in our bed.”</p><p>“Fine,” Eskel concedes, his mind caught up on how easy it rolls off his tongue — our bed. </p><p>Drinking the remnants of his beer, Geralt gets up, muttering something about getting the check. Eskel doesn’t fight him, knows his efforts to pay him back are always in vain. When he comes back to their table, Eskel’s already standing with his hands on his pockets, his head tilted back, looking up at the dark sky.  </p><p>“I mean it, you know,” he says quietly when Geralt joins him on the sidewalk, still looking up. </p><p>Geralt turns to look at him, a tiny frown knitting his eyebrows. “What?”</p><p>Eskel exhales softly, watching the small white cloud of his breath disappear into the air. He meets Geralt’s eyes, stepping closer. </p><p>“I’d run away with you. I always would.” </p><p>“Yeah?” Geralt says with a lopsided smile, the tip of his nose pink. “Even with ten dogs sleeping in our bed, and no cell-signal?”</p><p>They do it often — daydreaming about a quieter life. Sometimes it’s a secluded cabin in the woods to fulfill Eskel’s wish to live as deliberately as Thoreau would have wanted, sometimes it’s a house in the hills for Geralt to raise a flock of sheep. Away from the sounds of the city, the busy pace of living, the high demands and expectations. No matter what scenario they choose to indulge in, they’re always together. Never apart.</p><p>Eskel moves closer still, his breath intertwining with Geralt’s, the tip of their shoes touching. His dark hair falls on his eyes, and Geralt pushes it back with his fingertips, his touch lingering.</p><p>“In a heartbeat.” </p><p>Eyes closed, Eskel feels Geralt’s lips brush against his for a second, the touch barely there. He doesn’t push, simply rubs his nose against Geralt’s, meeting his amber gaze. He twirls a loose strand of white hair on his fingers, gently tugging before pulling back, Geralt’s lips curling into a soft smile.</p><p>“Let’s go,” he whispers.</p><p>Eskel nods. “Let’s go home.”</p><p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>thank you for reading! find me on <a href="http://julek.tumblr.com/">tumblr</a>.</p></blockquote></div></div>
</body>
</html>